I had been talking to a man named Jason online for a few weeks before finally agreeing to meet him at a restaurant.
At first, everything seemed normal.
He was polite, confident, and insisted on getting my coffee himself while I stayed at the table.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying the cup.
Just as he placed it in front of me, our waitress rushed over and accidentally—or so I thought—knocked it across the table.
Coffee went everywhere.
Jason’s face turned red.
He snapped at her and demanded to speak to the manager.
The waitress apologized repeatedly, but something about her expression seemed strange.
I decided I had had enough and ended the date early.
Near the exit, the waitress caught up with me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I spilled it on purpose.”
My stomach dropped.
She told me that while Jason was standing near the counter, she saw him open something small in his hand and pour it into my coffee.
She couldn’t tell exactly what it was, so instead of risking a confrontation, she knocked the drink over before I could touch it.
I immediately called a friend to pick me up.
Jason kept texting, demanding to know why I had left.
I blocked him.
I never found out exactly what he put in that cup.
But I’ll always be grateful that one waitress paid attention when I didn’t.
